Chuck Vs Anastasia
by Shadow Waif
Summary: What do you get when you put Chuck, Casey, a Russian business princess, an ancient practice, and a lot of vodka together? Danger, lies, deception...basically just the average day at the office, along with some very confusing feelings of jealousy...


**ZERO:**

**New Assignment**

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><p><em>Burbank, CA<em>

_April, 27_

_23:01_

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><p>"Bartowski, the next time I tell you not to touch anything you better keep your curious nerd fingers to yourself. Or I will break them. You don't need functioning limbs to flash information." Casey snarled through clenched teeth, which cracked the concrete that still dusted over his skin and clothes.<p>

"How was I supposed to know that it was going to release al that cement…or that the troth was right over your head at that current moment in time." Chuck's voice got a bit higher as he tried to hold his ground when the wall of muscle that was glaring down at him. "Sorry," he added with a wince as his body shrank away ever so slightly.

Without a word, Casey just walked away, pealing his tight black T-shirt that was speckled grey off as he marched across the courtyard. They might be the same height but while Chuck had a lanky frame, which befit his 'nerd' status, John Casey was nothing but hardened militant strength.

He had to be on steroids.

That was the conclusion that Chuck had come to long ago in order to bypass having yet another inferiority complex. It was one thing to have to constantly compare himself to the super spies that were Bryce Larkin and Cole Barker, he didn't need to add to his personal issues.

"Is it just me, or can that guy easily pass for a terminator…Do you think he was sent from the future to save you over and over again because you're going to have to save the world when the robot apocalypse begins?"

Chuck looked down at Morgan, who seemed to just pop out of no where, and cocked an eyebrow. "I thought we talked about you having marathons with the Sarah Chronicles."

"We did…but she's just so freakin' hot!"

"Yeah buddy," Chuck said, patting his best friend's head, "you really need a girl."

"The CIA is my Lady; I must heed her sweet call."

Chuck just walked away, sliding his hands into his pockets and shaking his head as he fought with the desire to laugh at his friend or swat him across the back of the head like the intersect wanted him to do.

Morgan did have a point though; it was only by the grace of John Casey's existence that he was still alive and standing. Too bad the guy had a personality of a grizzly bear, despite which Chuck still considered him a close friend…just one that he couldn't actually get physically close to…

Thinking about it made his head hurt.

Seeing that, after their fourth break-up, Sarah had gone off to the UK as a bridge between MI6 and CIA over three months ago, Chuck had been far closer to the snarky, gun-nut than he ever wanted to be.

How did Morgan ever manage to survive Casey's training?

It was only after Chuck was in the house and halfway to his room did he realize that he was missing something very important. "Shit, where's my phone?" he muttered, walking into his room and sitting on the edge of his bed, pressing the heels of his hands to his closed eyelids

"Hey, idiot, you dropped this somewhere between screaming like a little girl and running like a pansy."

Chuck's head lifted out of his hands; the first things he saw were Casey's cold-blue eyes. The agent was standing at the former 'Morgan-door' with Chuck's phone dangling from his fingers.

"I don't scream like a girl or run like a pansy…at least not anymore…or at least not this month…" He got off the mattress and snatched the phone from Casey's fingers. "You do realize that I did go through rigorous spy training, right?"

"Sure I do, the question is if you do."

Chuck opened his mouth to make a retort, but was cut off as his TV screen clicked on and the general's scowling face appeared.

Not one to beat around the bush, the redhead looked the two, who were leaning so that they were in sight, and jumped right in without preamble. "Coronal Casey, glad to see you're here too. This saves me the trouble of contacting the both of you separately."

"What's up general?" Chuck asked, as usual lacking any form of formality, as he plopped back down on his bed and Casey climbed in through the window and took a seat on the leather swivel chair.

The screen cut from Beckman's glaring face to a picture of a young, very beautiful woman filled the area. She looked to be a bit younger than Chuck, mid-twenties. Her black hair, which was highlighted with jets and blue and violet, was pulled back into a ponytail that curled softly at the ends and made her snowy complexion all the more vivid.

"This," Beckman's dismembered voice said, "is Raisa Gerasimova-"

"That's a mouthful," Chuck muttered over to Casey, who just glared.

"—and she's the daughter of Abram Gerasimova, the founder of MOVA Enterprizes and undoubtedly the most powerful man in Russia, granting him and his family the title of this century's Romanovs." The screen went back to Beckman, the contrast between the beautiful Russian and the General made Chuck cringe. "Like the family they were named after, this family meant an unfortunate end. All, save Raise, were killed off in an assassination attempt."

"Making her, what, this century's Anastasia?"

Both Beckman and Casey shot Chuck withering glares for his comment.

"Why were they killed?" Casey asked, straightening in his seat. "And why was she spared?"

"Turns out that Abram was involved in the Russian mob, the assassination is believed to be the byproduct of a double-cross as for why Raise survived, that's for you two to find out."

"What?" Chuck and Casey's voices managed to blend together in near-perfect harmony.

Another picture filled the frame, a camera still of the airport. "This was taken a few hours ago at the LA airport." It was of the same pale beauty, this time wearing sunglasses over her icy-blue eyes, walking through a gate with a small wheeling suitcase. "We are to believe that Raisa may be responsible or her family's death as a means to steal her father's research and deliver it to a member of an American branch of the mob." Despite her thigh-high boots, which sported seven inch heels, her stride looked calm and confident. Not like a woman on the run.

Regardless, when Chuck moved in for a closer look at the still, his gaze zoomed in on the necklace dangling around the woman's neck, at the silver charm hanging against the dark material of her sweater. Chuck's mind flashed. Pictures of Raisa, along with several other people who resembled her greatly, and an endless stream of numbers and, oddly enough, steel I-beams with gold bars filled his mind.

"Whoa…" he exhaled, letting his head fall back into his hands, "don't freak out," he added to himself as Casey and the General exchanged confused glances.


End file.
